ANTI THE HOLiC
by Rainy Illusionist
Summary: Welcome to world of deceit and hate, where there is no flag-waving or cheering. Welcome to a world where no one is there to watch for you, talk to you, protect you; no God to save you, only spirits. Welcome to future Earth. Slight USUK, OCs, OC countries, based on the song Anti the Holic. Past, present, and future settings are made. Rated T.
1. Chapter 1: Terrors

**A/N**

**Okay, I can't decide what to write anymore. Chapter 4 for Areyshland Isles is almost done, Chapter 3 for Terrible Things is almost done. . .might end up putting them all on Hiatus because I just discovered an idea that I feel really strongly about. R&R?**

**Disclaimer, I do not own Hetalia.**

**Rated T for swearing and violence and me being paranoid.**

* * *

_Summary: Welcome to world of deceit and hate, where there is no flag-waving or cheering. Welcome to a world where no one is there to watch for you, talk to you, protect you; no God to save you. Welcome to Earth._

* * *

Silence.

The first thing that he noticed was the stretched, lengthy silence that seemed louder than thunder. His head pounded in agony, forcing him to remember the pain that was inflicted upon him only minutes ago. He barely noticed his feet moving frantically under him, as if trying a futile run; after all, there was nothing to run from. He was safe from harm for the time being.

The pain in his head reminded him fiercely that there _was _something to run from. He just didn't remember what it was. Another human? A monster? What?

He felt his chest rising up and down from each terrible breath, his feet moving in slow-motion with his arms, and his wide sky-blue eyes trying to escape the sight of the bloodied bodies. Nations rose up from the dust, whether new or old, then were destroyed all over again. He was the only one of the original world powers that remained now.

England was gone. Russia had been overrun. Japan lost the war to China. China lost his soul to humanity. Germany disappeared with no will left to run his country, and Italy followed shortly after. France's civilians had broken down their system, and merged with what was left of the other world powers. He became nothing. He, the United States of America, was the only one left out of the Big Eight.

"God save us," he whispered, dry lips cracked and unfeeling. He licked his lips, trying to moisten them with his tongue.

Sadly, he knew, there was no God. This God had been the start of the end of the world. This was no longer 2012, 1999, or anything. This was the _future. _There were new countries now; some that weren't even supposed to exist.

He could hear them. Shouts, angry orders, and heated arguments were heard behind him. They seemed to be in a rush to capture him…After all, he was the last one. The last one in the way of their world domination.

Who were they? He'd never bothered to remember their names. They didn't deserve it, after all. They had taken away England and separated him into several different parts. He became so many civilizations that he grew distraught and dissipated into oblivion.

Where was God to save them now? Nowhere, it seemed like. One of those terrors behind him was a nation spawned out of his own grief and hate; Benland. His only son, who was started by an average but tall teen with spunky brown hair and brilliant speckled brown-green eyes that went by the name of Ben. That selfish teen had named the new country after himself, and somehow, settled nicely into the middle of the Bermuda Triangle. They also worshipped a goddamned pear tree. He couldn't believe how retarded his American descendants could become, but now it seemed like anything was possible.

Benland had become great. He'd discovered unknown technology, buried long before America's time. He'd put back together the new materials under Earth's surface, and created a gigantic, perfect cloning facility. His population was so large the land was bursting at its seams just trying to hold all of Ben's clones.

It was a perfect communist government. They all responded to each other, knew each other, and thought like each other. They were practically the same mind with millions, billions of bodies. Even though their lifetime was only twenty or so years max, they produced at such an alarming rate that Benland soon became the smallest, but largest-population world power there was.

That was the only Terror nation he remembered. Oh, yes, he'd named the killing nations the Terrors. No Axis, no Allied Forces. They were the reincarnation of Hell. They were the Terrors.

The others were extremely vague in his mind. A Germanic nation, a Turkish-Spanish nation, a unique but European-like nation, an English nation, a Russian-like nation, and several more. They'd all risen to power years ago, and had nearly wiped all competition off the planet. They replaced the old Big Eight and started a new generation, this one even worse than the last. They'd destroyed, conquered, and conquered some more. They were bloodthirsty bastards that shouldn't have existed.

He'd have to trust three of his citizens to carry out his will, America thought. He would choose his best three, and send them out to infiltrate them all. A daring, movie-worthy move, but he knew it was practically futile. He could still try, though. He didn't have long to live, considering the manhive Benland was chasing after him.

An eagle soon alighted on his outstretched arm, its golden eyes still sharp and expectant. This is why the eagle represents America, he thought. Because it stays so free and powerful, even in the face of death.

There was only one way, he thought, placing his written will in the eagle's talons. He needed help from the past.

The past was where he could make amends. He could prepare for the world's destruction at the hands of his own son. If he could turn back time…he would protect the Earth. He would be a hero.

But the Earth wouldn't last long enough if he left. It would fall, almost immediately, to the hands of the Terrors once he left. He had to stay and protect it, until the Eagle brought back the freedom that could save them all.

So, he, America, would stay to face the Earth's slow destruction. Slowing it was one thing. Stopping it was another. He could slow it down for a while, but the Terrors were too powerful. They would eventually overrun him, just like Russia, and then the world would have been rebuilt into a living Hell.

The eagle spread its wide wings, and began its great flight into the sky. Raising its proud head, the eagle regarded America with a cynical eye. _Well, are you going, or not?_ It seemed to ask him.

America couldn't help but crack a small smile. _I will save the Earth,_ he thought. _I'll do it. Not for the sake of myself…but for all of you. _

_ I will protect you, all of you._

The eagle seemed to smile when it looked into America's now-confident eyes. It contained the pride of the young nation; after all, America had barely reached over a thousand years old. And he, the Eagle, George Washington, or the Liberty Bird, was proud of him. America had matured. He could do it.

The Eagle flapped higher into the clouds, a small device attach to its neck. Flying directly towards the sun, the Eagles' wings began to fold together, as if diving back towards the Earth. The device gave a shrill beeping sound, alerting the Eagle that he was close to his destination. Just a little longer, then he would be fast enough to do it.

His speed increasing, the Eagle flapped harder than ever, its wings beating effortlessly and allowing it to cross the sky with ease. Nothing could stop it now. The brave golden eyes of the Liberty Bird stared at the sun, defying the pain that it felt. Its wings hurt from the sun's now-hard rays, the pollution around the Eagle not helping.

The device suddenly uttered a spluttering noise, before the Eagle felt all of its pain melt away. Within the blink of an eye, the Eagle disappeared from sight, whisked away by a bright green light.

America smiled. He could trust the Liberty Bird; he could trust his best friend, George Washington. No matter what age it was, his first acclaimed Founding Father would always be watching over him, in the form of an eagle.

Standing up, America held his only weapon close to his chest. A single Desert Eagle wasn't going to be much against the attacking nations, but it would be able to distract them long enough for him to make a quick escape. Then he could make a plan on how to slow them down.

Lifting his Desert Eagle, America fired his first round in rapid succession, downing a charging soldier and wounding two others. Three Benlandian, or Bennish clones held their Plasma weapons, aiming them expertly at America's face. America dodged under cover just in the nick of time; the plasma flew right above him.

He jumped over the cover, dropkicking one of the Turkish-Spanish Terror's soldiers. The man fell to the ground, groaning, and America picked him up by the neck, using him as a body shield. The other soldiers seemed like they weren't going to fire, with one of their own blocking the way.

America grinned maniacally. He shot two other Benlandian clones with his Desert Eagle, before backing up and making a mad dash for it. He could hear the yowls of protest behind him getting softer and softer. He was escaping.

After what seemed like hours of full-on sprinting, America flopped onto the gory ground, panting hard. He couldn't hear anyone chasing after him. For now, he was safe to plan for his counterattack. That was, if any of his soldiers were left to defend the area…

Right now, he could only hope and pray that the Eagle had reached its destination. He could only hope, and wait, for it to bring back salvation to the corrupted Earth of the future.

* * *

Alice was just taking her daily nap when she heard something like an explosion in the distance. Startled, she jumped straight up, the hair on her neck standing up. _What the heck?_ She thought. _Did I just hear a freaking explosion, or am I deaf?_

"Henry. Dammit, Henry, you fat oaf, wake up!" Alice snapped at her best friend. Henry groaned, blinking flecks out of his eyes and stared into Alice's milky brown eyes. His best friend just had to a grouchy Asian, he mused to himself. Always so prompt and punctual.

"What is it, Alice?" Henry pushed his wavy dark brown hair so it looked normal again. It kind of looked like Spain's hairstyle, he thought to himself. Having a bedhead around Alice always ended badly. She'd probably start petting it and make it look worse.

"Did you hear that huge sound outside?" she asked him.

"Eh?"

"So, you didn't?" Alice looked relieved. "My ears must be playing tricks on me."

"Um, Alice, I heard it."

The duo turned to see their other best friend, Thomas (or Tom), staring quizzically at them. "I heard it, loud and clear," he said. "It…was west."

"West from here," Alice confirmed grimly. "That was no gunshot."

"Damn straight," Henry muttered. "You've got to be joking me, right?"

"We're going to have to check it out," Tom told them. "I mean, it was nearby! Since we're at your house, Henry, we've got to see if everything's okay."

"Got it!" Henry suddenly bounced up. "Adventure time, let's go!"

"Hold up, what if it's dangerous?" Alice asked.

"Then you bring your boat paddle, Henry can bring his baseball bat, and I'll bring my BB gun."

"Deal."

The three friends trudged out of the clean house, all looking at ease and slightly bored. Only Tom was truly looking aggravated, but he tried not to show it. After all, he could never really trust his gut feeling!

"Hey, what's that?" Henry pointed at something in the distance. It looked like a bird.

"Holy _shit,_ that's an eagle!"

Tom was right. Coming at full speed to the ground, an eagle going at only-God-knows miles per hour was heading straight for the ground.

"…Get out of the way," Alice said in her creepily calm way.

All three leapt out of the way, before ducking under some loose rubble. They braced themselves to hear a sickening splat, but none was heard.

Henry sneaked a peak from his cover. What he saw confused him.

The eagle was displayed flatly on the ground, as if dead, but no blood was around it. Its head was at an odd angle, but its eyes were still fully alive and twitching. In its talons was a ripped-up, ancient-looking letter.

Henry slowly walked up to the eagle, gently slipping the note out from its talons. It was surprisingly hard to get out; the eagle must have held it very tightly. Henry swore he saw the eagle twitch and give him a defiant glare.

The crumpled letter was yellow and aged, probably made decades ago. Something about it reeked death, Henry thought. He uncrumpled it and read it aloud, so Thomas and Alice could also hear.

"_Nothing is infinite. _

_ Science_

_ Formula_

_ Parallel circuits, your ego is charmed by a group of stars and breaks down_

_ God save us from past present future, for 8 will flip_

_ Anti the 8 HOLiC."_

Henry stared at the yellow paper, his throat suddenly dry. The message was a subtle plea for help, he knew. It was too…heartbreaking, perhaps. He just knew it was asking for them to help them. But who was _them, _and where were they? Why?

"…Oh."

Henry turned to see Alice's eyes narrowed to slits. "The loop that closed the worshipped past is—"

"A transient single-lined circle finally burned and snapped." Tom finished her sentence, eyes darting around fearfully.

The Eagle stirred from its deathbed, wings suddenly unfurling and now as wide as Henry was tall. And Henry was quite a tall teen.

It opened its beak, and made a rasping sound that Alice heard as "The name of the forgotten world is…"

"Irrationality." Alice seemed to be in a trance.

"Anti the Infinite Holic." Tom said.

"Guys, what're you talking about?" Henry twitched uncomfortably.

The Eagle regarded them with a beady eye. _You have been chosen, young ones, to carry out the task,_ its voice echoed in their heads.

"What task?" Henry blinked, shocked. Did the thing just speak to them? Telepathically, even?

_Do not refuse. You cannot._

"Wh-what!"

_It is your fault this has begun in the first place!_

"Look, dude, this is getting weird!"

_All three of you must solve the riddle of life. You must follow the trail of despair. You shall bring salvation to the world of new._

"…I don't understand…"

_Monsters of deceit. You who have started it all, must end it. Your descendants have broken the loop of that worshipped past._

_ You, ancestors, will pay for it._

"Wait up! I'm really confused now!"

_Listen carefully._

"I already am! Maybe not Tom or Alice, but for sure I am!"

_Skeleton's lost gestures in the Americas of A end with an R_

_ Leading to the cardverse's whisper_

_Sylvia, of the broken hearts;_

_ Aaron, of the crying clubs;_

_ Benjamin, of the warring spades;_

_ Find who has begun_

_ Who has ended_

_ And bring back what has started._

_ The cards have been played_

_ But the deck remains untouched_

_ Which will you choose?_

_ Tip the HAT_

_ Follow the bleeding loop to your destination_

_ Follow, follow, follow the Axis."_

…

"Oh my God." Henry rubbed his neck nervously.

"Dear Lord." Alice was appalled.

"I-I-I-" Tom stuttered.

_This is your journey. Find the Skeleton._

"Look, this…it's like the apocalypse!"

"What if it is?"

"Don't shove that stuff down my noggin, Tom! It's scary!"

"Shush, Alice, I'm already peeing my pants!"

The three friends squabbled, all of them scared out of their wits. None of them had been really into necrophilia or prophecies, but they were pretty sure that they'd heard one about a dead man calling for some sort of revenge. They were all young pre-teens, barely thirteen, so it was kind of obvious they weren't going to take it very seriously.

"Your heard them say Cardverse." Alice whispered. "Universe, only cardversed. Everything is turned to the equality of cards!"

"Hetalia! It's got to be Hetalia!"

"Impossible, since human nations can't exist."

"Pretty much. Let's go see if we can solve this riddle, though. It's better than spending the rest of the summer like this."

"Skeleton time?"

"Computer time, bros."

"Let's do this!"

* * *

While all the shenanigans were happening during the trio's time, America was still panting hard from the battle. Making up a plan with the little that he had left was nearly impossible. After all, the Terrors were coming closer each minute. Half of America had already been defeated.

Everyone had gathered in the West. East had been taken and separated into parts, just like England was. Each of the Terrors took one part and claimed it as their own, guarding it and using it as a base in case America decided to make a quick move. It was also perfect bait; America was growing tired and needed his Eastern part to survive correctly. Half of him had been taken over; of course his body was starting to feel the strain. He was still going to be the hero, of course! He wasn't going to let them take him away just like that. It was like the Civil War all over again.

"Sir! Svaestrian forces are coming from the south!"

America started, feeling his heart beat wildly. Svaestrian…Svaestria! One of the Terrors! She was already that close?

"God damn them! Okay, send the Fifth Platoon out to the Eastern border and flank! Break behind them by using Squadron Eight's missiles, we've got to get the helicopter to the tanks! Now!"

All hell broke loose as the Americans charged forward, intent on breaking the line of troops headed their way. Following America's exact orders, the soldiers fought back, taking the Germanic Terror by surprise. Although the flanking situation was working well, Benlandian forces were not far behind.

"It was just a decoy, shit! Bring back the fucking heli, we've got to get Squad Seven into there! Switch, switch!" America called.

Everything was going according to plan. Just take a few deep breaths, America told himself. Calm down. They'll have to retreat at this rate. Even though they've got the advantage, they don't have enough resources…for the next month, at least. He could do it.

He could try, at least…

* * *

**End of first chapter. Aughhhh yes this contains fake countries! They'll be pretty important later on so pay attention to the names! You'll be hearing from Iggy next chapter, so stay tuned! 8D**

**Signing out with a fail, Rainy!**

**Please review. ;A; And sorry for terrible grammar. This mainly revolves around America and England, past present future, based on my *warped and changed* view on the song that's all over the place on tumblr. Anti the infinite Holic, USUK styled. XD**


	2. Chapter 2: England

**A/N**

**I'm back, and with a freakin' TRIPLE UPDATE! (I thinks, I thinks…maybe for this story *weeps*) GUYS, BE…happy…not really, considering no one really wants me to write anyways XD;;**

**Of course, I expected WAY better writing from me, (high self-expectations), but I sucked. Writer's block is iffy. Areyshland Isles is going to be a pain; Terrible Thing is going to take quite a few more chapters before anything REALLY happens, and this…this makes absolutely no sense until way farther into it. It might not even make sense to anyone because it's within a group of my friends.**

**R&R! Thanks.**

* * *

America screamed.

One pair of cold green eyes peered down at the defeated nation, America's own Desert Eagle held firmly in the opposing Terror's hand. This certain Germanic nation named Svaestria adjusted her low-lit sunglasses and trained her eyes on America's bleeding hand. She then began to examine the rusting Desert Eagle.

America could barely make out anything in front of him. He'd lost control, lost the battle to the Terrors, after all. One of his eyes was shut closed, since blood was dripping down that side of his forehead, and the other eye was just a bit open, the smoke preventing him from really seeing anything special. He just knew hell was going to break loose very soon.

Svaestria sighed, particularly annoyed. Something was obviously wrong…the plan was to have quietly infiltrated America's base, but it seemed Benland had changed those orders last minute. He'd been given proper authorization over her soldiers, after all, but this reckless assault had cost her quite a few elites. This was the problem about Benland, she thought bitterly. He never cared about his citizens; they were just cannon fodder to him, anyways. Replaceable. Easily made.

"So, _America,_" She started, a smug smile making its way to her face, "I suggest you lay down any other arms," she gestured to his troops, "and surrender quietly. This way less carnage will happen, right?"

"Damn commie bastard," America spat at her feet. "You been working with that dude, what, Russia's old-ass government?"

"That wasn't a proper answer at all," Svaestria replied, slicking back her brilliant, blonde hair. She adjusted her tan officer's cap and glared down at America once more. "We're here for more than just this pathetic _world domination—"_

"Yeah, what's your pretty word for it? A bloody, goddamned freaking _new generation? _You violently replace all of us when you could've just weedled your way into supremacy like everyone else! Instead you try to kill us, and you didn't just succeed, you've corrupted it all! You say you've got a bureaucracy! Yeah, right! Just looks like another Stalin to me!"

Svaestria kept her cool, although it was obvious she was seething with rage inside. America noted this, a contempt feeling making its way to his chest. _Take that, _he grinned.

"Heya, Svae. Take it easy there." A young male's voice spoke from behind both countries. America rolled up his arms defensively, but Svaestria didn't even flinch.

"Who are _you?_" America demanded.

"My, my! You've forgotten me already." The voice replied, pretending to be hurt. "I can't believe ya forgot your poor son!"

America felt his throat constrict, and then violently coughed. _I can't believe ya forgot your poor son!_ The phrase kept on repeating itself in his head. His son. He only had one son; one adopted son. That was Benland.

Benland laughed, now walking through the carnage around him, taking in the scenes of the dead and manually putting it away in his memory. His spiky-light brown hair was almost like Prussia's, only his eyes were more mischievous and gold. A pair of distinctive, sharp, and white horns stood on the top of his head, poking out of his hair. His shirt was black with white trimmings; it was the same with his pants. His stark-black shoes shined in the light, and his grin widened when he saw America gape at him. A picture of a golden pair with the Jewish star in the middle of it was displayed openly on his black shirt.

"Surprised? I wouldn't be. You've seen me a lot, right? Shouldn't my amazing appearance make you happy? Or are you sad, dad?"

America didn't answer.

"You know, dad," Benland continued, "I really liked you. But you aren't my dad, actually."

"That's right," America snapped. "Someone like you can't be the angel I thought you were going to be. You're not even a demon. You're just nothing."

Benland avoided America's stern but fatherly gaze. Something about it told him not to look. "You'll be nothing in no time," Benland hissed. "I'll take your place. I'll finally get people to look at me. They won't ignore me. They'll listen to me! They'll bow down to me when I walk in front of them! They'll be the ones kissing my feet!"

"What about England?" America heard Svaestria's strained whisper.

Benland suddenly went quiet.

"What about him?" America responded angrily. "You killed him! I didn't—"

"Shut up." Benland kicked at the ground in front of America.

"Oh, you're feeling guilty!" America was on a roll now, he wasn't going to stop. "So the monster of a nation can actually feel remorse! How absolutely ironic, you nasty piece of garbage! You're just another bastard waiting to be killed by another generation—"

"I _am _a bastard," Benland said. "You didn't marry anyone. Yet _I was still born._"

"You won't know about England," Svaestria ignored the previous three statements. "He felt exactly like you right now when you decided to claim your freedom."

"How would you know?" America snarled.

"Because I'm about one thousand years older than you."

…

"_What?"_

* * *

"What about the eagle we left behind?" Tom stared at his two marching friends quizzically. Previously, they'd met an odd eagle that spoke to them telepathically about some sort of riddle. Now, they were stuck in the situation of trying to find the answer to it, and his two stubborn, hard-headed friends were already trying to find out what it meant.

"_Skeleton's lost gestures in the Americas of A end with an R_

_ Leading to the cardverse's whisper_

_Sylvia, of the broken hearts;_

_ Aaron, of the crying clubs;_

_ Benjamin, of the warring spades;_

_ Find who has begun_

_ Who has ended_

_ And bring back what has started._

_ The cards have been played_

_ But the deck remains untouched_

_ Which will you choose?_

_ Tip the HAT_

_ Follow the bleeding loop to your destination_

_ Follow, follow, follow the Axis." _ Alice repeated the riddle.

"What does 'skeleton's lost gestures in the Americas of A end with an R' mean?" Henry sighed, exasperated. "Makes absolutely no sense!"

"Well, let's see," Alice replied, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, "A skeleton, so someone who's dead, maybe. Lost gestures could be someone trying to make up with someone else, but failing. In America, obviously means it was in here, or maybe South America. But then they say 'of A'. Of A might mean over here, because North and South America don't start with an A, and since we're mainly referred to as America, and South always has South in front of it, it's in the USA. End with an R? I've no idea, though."

"That made almost no sense." Henry stated once more. "You lost me around the part about 'In America'."

"Okay, _the _Americas. Who's got a hand in both Americas?"

"Napoleon?"

"NO!"

"George Washington?"

"NO!"

"What, Benjamin Franklin—"

"Henry, actually think!" Alice sighed.

"Well, the USA fought with Britain for independence, but Washington was the one—"

"Oh! Henry! You're a genius!"

"Wait what?" Henry blinked. He didn't expect Alice to suddenly praise him.

"We fought with Britain for independence; Britain's colonies are _also _in the Americas!" she cried triumphantly.

"Woah, slow down, partner." Henry faked a stereotypical Texan accent.

"Don't you get it? Hetalia. We talked about it earlier. They might answer our riddle."

"Hetalia?"

"Yes. Britain's the one with 'lost gestures' in the Americas; our relationship never really, I mean, like, _really _mended. Though I've still no idea about 'of A' and ending with the R."

"Guys, we're at Henry's house," Tom broke into the heated conversation. "Sounds like you think you've got some of it down," he murmured.

"Aye, we do," Henry laughed.

The trio hurried into the house, shutting all doors and windows before rushing to Henry's room. He quickly logged onto his computer, typing rapidly and searching "hetalia England Britain skeleton".

They Googled it, hoping for some results.

They got some.

"Look! Look!" Alice squee'd, pointing at the screen and one of the searches. "Youtube, and we've struck gold!"

"MMD?"

"Miku Miku Dance. It's about America (USA) and Britain (England)! Stuck in past and future. Watch the video, I think we've got our answer!"

Henry played the video, and all three carefully examined it. They noticed how they were all mentioning how false everything was and the crumbling of all must always happen; an infinite cycle of life that has no meaning. God could do nothing to save them.

It was as if it was the dance of the world.

Tom was completely absorbed in the MMD. He read the lyrics flashing below it, carefully diverting his eyes so that his two friends couldn't see how interested he was. What had they said earlier? They'd repeated some of the lyrics in the video, when they were in a trance. Something…something was up…

"Dude, remember beforehand? We already know some of this stuff." Tom grumbled. Then he suddenly lit up in recognition. "So we've got to find _England…_"

"You're joking me, right?" Henry groaned. "How're we gonna find a personified country? I mean, sure, thick brows, cool. But all those anime bangs and such? I mean, his eyebrows might be thick but they're pretty darn amazing! They're like they're _waxed!_"

"All anime characters' eyebrows look like they're waxed," Alice pointed out timidly.

"So what're we going to do about this?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

"Find him," was his friends' answers.

"_How? _We've only got a few more days before our sleepover-party ends, and how the hell does he even _exist in the first place_-_"_

"_WE JUST WILL!"_

* * *

America continued to gape at Svaestria's statement. Benland snorted, annoyed, but stopped when Svaestria gave him one of her signature 'shut up or I will shove this shovel up your ass' stares.

She then hesitantly removed a shovel from somewhere nearby her. To America, it'd basically just magically appeared out of thin air. Toying with the shovel, she returned her attention back at the dumbstruck country.

"As I said before, I'm thousands of years older than you," she murmured, barely loud enough for America to hear. It seemed as if she was embarrassed to say so.

"…N-no." America refused to believe her, his eyes dilating and a feeling of panic rising up in his chest.

"Dad, dad, dad!" Benland laughed. "Don'tcha see? We aren't from this world. We're from Earth, yeah! _But we're not from this dimension._"

"We weren't supposed to exist." Svaestria added as an afterthought, even quieter than before.

America blinked, trying to find a sensible answer to what he had just heard. So old. Not from this dimension. _Weren't supposed to exist. . ._

"I don't get it!" He cried. "Then why, why're you here? Why, what's the point? Why are you doing this in the first place, if you don't belong?"

"I don't know."

America froze. Benland's answer was so simple, yet unforgiving…

"We honestly don't know or care. You'll see. We're going to make the perfect world. It'll be perfect…everyone'll be free…no one will die…everything will be so happy…" Benland rambled on. His eyes were made into slits, and a blissful smile replaced his angry expression. He seemed to be imagining his perfect world.

America didn't need to think twice before he knew that his son was insane. If they weren't from this dimension, how did he have all these memories of how they were brought into existence? How come they didn't die? Why didn't they leave the world? In fact, why were they here in the first place?

_Why?_

_Why did they all have to die?_

_Why did they exist?_

_Why?_


	3. Chapter 3: Are they Gangsters?

Henry yelped, struggling to escape from his captor's grip. His nose felt like it was broken, his leg muscles were sore from running, and his entire body stung from the several bruises he'd obtained. He didn't even know where his friends were. Guilt surged through him, making him want to throw up even more. It was his fault that they'd gotten into so much trouble.

First, he'd decided to go running off into oblivion to find England from Hetalia. How stupid was that? Yelling his human name, asking around town, begging to see international certificates of the famous online—he swore that he could've found him, he told his friends that he did find England (Alice's face was hilarious when he pointed at the map to England, she was all like "You don't say?"), that he'd been given a formal invitation to this area, and they'd believed him, when he'd lied and only felt like exploring the place. Now they were stuck in such a sticky situation, he felt like he'd have a better time locked up in chains and sent on the slave market.

Gangsters? He didn't know. Some people, though…they captured them for no reason. It was a pointless kidnap. Their parents weren't technically rich, and the flaws in their capture would lead to the culprits getting caught. So why were these people attacking him and his friends? Henry wondered.

"Leggo!" he pouted, trying to say "let go" with a bleeding nose. "Leggo now!"

"Listen, kid, what boss says, we do," the tall man said. "He wanted you. We got you. He never said anythin' about 'no injuries'."

"I haf no ibea wath yur're talkin 'bout!"

"Listen again, before I give you another wack on that nose. Shut up and sit still, stop strugglin' or you're going to be in for one hell of a ride. Boss might want to deal with you personally for snooping around like that."

Henry ceased to struggle, understanding that by no means was he going to escape. The man was awfully tall, maybe 6'5", and had a lean, muscular body frame. He looked like he ran regularly; he looked quite fit. The man could easily outrun him, even when Henry was almost six feet himself.

He waited for the perilous, bumpy journey to end, slumped over the man's shoulder. Moments later, Henry asked, almost timidly, "Waf's yur naome?"

"People just call me Bloodhound."

What an odd name, Henry thought to himself. Sounds like some sort of code name.

"We're here." Bloodhound grunted later, after what seemed like hours. He ruffled his deep brown hair, and surveyed the area with a critical eye. Bloodhound dropped Henry, who landed with a growl on the concrete below them. Bloodhound turned his hazel eyes to an apartment building, walking up to door and knocking. He lit a rather large cigar, now waiting for an answer by puffing up rings of smoke into the clouds.

"Who is it?" a sharp Scottish voice was heard from behind the apartment's door.

"Bloodhound. I've got the wee little boy, as you asked, 'ey?"

There was a clinking sound from behind the door, followed by noisy scrapings. The door finally swung open, and Henry could see inside. The entire room was encased in heavy iron, as there seemed to be complete iron walls, like a cage. There were medieval, ancient-looking wooden stairs leading up to the upper floor, and there sat a lone stool with a brilliant red rose in the middle of the room. Other than that, there seemed to be nothing else in the room.

_It's just like a jail,_ Henry thought.

Bloodhound motioned for Henry to follow him, and they both entered the room cautiously. There was no sign of life; the man who had spoken to them was obviously not in the room. Perhaps he'd talked from a speaker?

Looking at the ceiling, Henry noticed a gray speck that blended in with the steel walls. It looked a little like a small microphone, and a neatly placed projector next to it. That seemed to be the thing that had answered their request.

The Scottish man wasn't in the house, which was for sure. Bloodhound locked the door once more before picking up Henry. He began to walk slowly across the room, making his way up the stairs with frightening ease. It was like Henry only weighed a feather!

As Bloodhound proceeded up the creaking, old stairs, Henry let his thoughts wander once more. Perhaps he's been kidnapped because he was just at the wrong place, wrong time? Bloodhound had told him that maybe their boss wanted to see him personally because he'd been 'snooping around'. Maybe it was all just a general misunderstanding? But why did they injure him? Where did they bring his friends?

Bloodhound seemed to noticed Henry's confusion. He shook the boy lightly on his shoulder, and continued on. Henry sighed, still hanging limply on the larger man's shoulder.

They were like that, walking forever up the winding stairway, for literally hours on end. Time flew by for Henry, who began to feel his eyelids droop after so many hours hanging onto Bloodhound's broad back. His stomach felt a bit sick, too, as it was the only thing supporting him on Bloodhound's shoulder. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

Closing his eyes with a deliberate moan, Henry felt sleep closing in on him like a prowling monster. It engulfed him in a quiet darkness, brilliant yet uncomfortable. He lost track of time, swinging loosely from Bloodhound's shoulder, taking in small, quick breaths. He could hear Bloodhound's footsteps; he could feel Bloodhound's heartbeat. It was as if he wasn't there; just spiritually, watching two forms walking up an endless stairway.

_Let him sleep._

_Let it all go._

_Let the little dove free once more._

* * *

"America." America lifted up his head to see the Desert Eagle pointed directly at his face. He didn't flinch.

"What." He answered, flatly.

Svaestria held the rusting pistol up to his head, a sad smile playing on her lips. Her light blonde hair was still tied in a ponytail, only bit of red stained it. Her clear green eyes seemed a little less strict then before.

"I'm going to have to kill you."

"Yeah, I know..."

He did know. She had to kill him. He was the only one left…the only one worth killing…

But he couldn't let that happen, could he?

"…But I can't die…yet."

America lunged forward, catching the two Terrors by surprise. He tackled Benland first, who snarled and began to bite at America. Svaestria didn't seem too effected by the attack. She simply stood and watched father and son struggle in the middle of nowhere. She smirked at their predicament.

_Who cares who wins or loses? We'll all die in the end. Why not have some fun?_

Benland seemed to be stronger than he looked. That, and America was already weakened. America dashed off as Benland attempted to seize his limbs, but tripped up over himself. One against two? Not his style. He ran off without another thought, taking his chances and escaping the Terrors.

Svaestria gave Benland a wide smile, and Benland returned it with his signature toothy grin. Both had already snapped long ago…perhaps, Svaestria first.

America sprinted for a few hours straight, his inhuman strength and determination fueling him. Time seemed to go faster for him…and soon enough, he'd found a safe little den where he saw the Eagle resting, content, on a broken windowsill.

"How…?"

The Eagle cocked its head at America. It hadn't brought back anything.

"But where. Where are they?" America hesitantly asked.

The Eagle shook its head.

_Not yet._ America thought, grimly. So they had to come on their own accord.

All he could do was wait…

* * *

"Is the dove awake yet?"

Henry blinked himself awake, seeing a redheaded, bushy-browed man with powerful green eyes staring down at him. He gave a start, yelping all the while, suddenly aware that he was surrounded by large, burly-looking men. Bloodhound stood next to him, painfully small compared to the other men around him. Sure, he was an inch taller, but the others were so broad-chested and muscular that Henry swore their suits would be popping at the seams.

"E', shu' up, hush up, man," the redhead told him, aggravated. He was smoking a large cigar. He wasn't as broad-chested/shouldered or muscular or tall as everyone else, but he an air of strength and dignity that the others lacked. He wore a traditional WWII uniform, although it was blue and had white straps connected in an _X _across his front. His gloved hands were crossed.

"Yessir!" Henry faked a salute, only to be reprimanded by the redhead once more.

"Diden' I sa' hush up, boy?" he snapped. "Salu' righ' if ye wan' us to approve." His heavy Scottish accent wasn't as deep as Henry expected, at least.

Henry merely nodded in answer this time.

"'Ear, 'ear, we're gon' bring this 'ere boy to 'im, awrigh'?" the Scot said, making his words almost incomprehensible.

The Scot's burly subordinates grunted in answer, one lifting up Henry as if he was lighter than a feather. They marched him off once more, only a few staircases, up to a wide hallway. They went to the very end, where a perfectly cut Yew wood door shone brilliantly in front of them. In the front, it was marked '_Kirkland Enterprises_'.

"E', he always had a knack at names," The Scot mused, his words now understandable.

They entered without knocking, with expressionless faces. Henry tried not to gape at the sight in front of them.

The room was a perfect square, and the walls were lined with high-quality wooden borders. It had a pale hue, but shone like the door they'd just walked through. The wood was a deep cherry brown, and regal paintings of orchards and such were hung around the place, on the back of the room. A lone carpet of plush red sat in the middle of the room, and large bookcases lined the left side of the room.

What amazed Henry the most, though, was in the very middle of the room. A large, even desk sat there, right on top of the red carpet. It had spectral designs on it, like a deck of cards, even. A Lily flower sat serenely in a jar nearby.

A man of incredible strength sat there.

He wasn't tall. He wasn't muscular or bulky, like the others. In fact, he didn't look amazing at all. But the simple aura that radiated off of him demanded respect and attention. His fierce emerald eyes seemed to be boring throw Henry, causing him to sweat unconsciously. The Scot beside him snorted, annoyed. The man sitting at the desk wiped his dirty blonde hair out of his face and glared at the Scot.

"What do we have here?"

The words came out of the man's mouth, veiled with secret venom. It was calm and direct, but Henry felt it. Somehow, it seemed to drill through him, hurting him mentally without actually insulting him. What?

The Scot laughed. "The kid."

"Oh?" the man obviously didn't expect such a weak and lanky-looking child like Henry.

"Bloodhou'd, explain." The Scot pushed Bloodhound forward. He looked nervous, jittery even. Henry was surprised to see the tall man quaking in fear just speaking to the man at the desk.

"I-I found the boy, like you requested, sir," Bloodhound tried to keep his voice even. "He was snooping around…like you said…"

"So?" the man sniffed.

"S-so I brought 'im back—"

"That doesn't answer my question. What was he here for?" the man's eyes burned a cold flame.

"I...uh…" Bloodhound stuttered.

"You don't know. Bloody idiots, you don't even find out the simplest of things?" The man leapt out of his chair, anger replacing his cool stature. He began to pace in front of the group. "Why do you think he was here? Think, fools! Perhaps, someone sent him to spy? Did you think of that? Throw you off guard, by using a child? He could be holding something of importance! Did you people even search him?" the man shouted, infuriated.

"Hey," Henry squeaked, trying to get the man's attention. He was scared, yeah, but what mattered when it was obvious that guy was going to vent his rage out on them?

The blonde man kept on ranting, his men starting to wince at his words. He ignored Henry, or didn't hear him at all. The man's bushy eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes narrowed. He didn't like what he was seeing, Henry thought.

"HOLD YOUR FREAKING HORSES, ASSHAT!" Henry roared as loudly as he could, startling the group and even the man himself. Regaining his lost composure, Henry continued. "I was just walking around, what's the problem? You knock me out, bring me here, all because I was walking around? I have every right. Where are my friends that came with me? I don't give a crap what you say, because I don't intend to do any spying or stuff. I'm here because we felt like it. We're lookin' for something, someone, whatever, if you really wanna know—"

"Who?" the man snapped. "Silence yourself, get to the point." He didn't seem to care that Henry had called him an asshat.

"I'm looking for...for…" Henry trailed off, contemplating if he would sound insane if he said it. And, he didn't he even know who these people were!

"Say it." The man snarled. "Before I kill you here."

"England." Henry spat.

Silence.

Henry dared to look up, only to see blatant shock on the blonde man's face. He turned to see everyone else frozen in place, eyes wide. Did he say something wrong?

The Scot broke the silence with is booming voice. "Ye bloody kid, yer lookin' for old _Iggy? _Oh, lord, where the 'ell didja learn this?"

"Friends."

"Ye mean the ones ye came with?"

"Mainly the girl, yeah. What of it?"

"Get 'em here. Bring 'em nice and quick." The Scot ordered his men. They scurried off.

The man with bushy eyebrows fell to his chair, exasperated. His tugged at his dirty green tie, wearing a British WWII uniform. It looked oddly familiar…

Where did he see that before…?

The bushy-browed man's men returned within minutes, dragging Thomas and Alice with them. They were dropped, and Alice squeaked angrily while Thomas uttered low protests.

"What do you think you're doing, grabbing us like that—" Alice stopped mid-sentence, staring at the Scot and then at the man behind him.

Thomas muttered something about women being easily tempted by handsome men.

"Shut up, Tom," Alice snapped. She was still staring at the Scot and the other man.

"What're you staring at them for?"

"They look like, y'know, _them—_"

"Who?" the Scot glanced at Alice, then at Tom with nothing more than mild contempt.

"Scotland and England," Alice mouthed at Henry, who got the message.

"Seriously?" Henry mouthed back, hoping to be undiscovered. Sadly, it wasn't to be.

"Seriously what?" the Scot smiled grimly, accent lost. "Are you not telling us something, kids?"

"You Scotland?" Henry shot back.

The Scot grimaced. "Kids catch on quick."

Henry's eyes widened. "You're joking me. Like, really. Dude, do you really expect me to just believe you right outta the blue—"

"I don't, but yer gal over there does. Right?"

Alice nodded.

The bushy-browed man opened his mouth to say something, although nothing came out. After a moment's silence, he said, "Why did you bring them into this world?"

The trio was startled. Tom swore he saw mischief lingering in Scotland's eyes, but when he looked again, he detected nothing. There was still something most definitely wrong.

"Three kids. Not much trouble, 'ey. They could be useful, Iggy."

"Don't you dare call me that terrible nickname—"

"Fine, England. Whatev'e."

…

The trio gulped audibly.

"ENGLAND?"


End file.
